


Corporal Punishment

by LEGUNDY



Series: LEGUNDERY Kinktober 2020 [28]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bruises, Choking, Come Eating, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masochism, Power Imbalance, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LEGUNDY/pseuds/LEGUNDY
Summary: Professor Smith decides to finally spank his truant of a student, but finds many, many others have already beaten him to it. He supposes it's time to think up a new disciplinary method for this troublemaker...
Series: LEGUNDERY Kinktober 2020 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950034
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Corporal Punishment

The professor stared openly at his student's ass. 

Charles was leaned over his desk, his slacks lowered to his thighs, and was providing a full view of his red, bruised skin for Smith to see. Everyone knew that Charles was the most truant student, the one who always came to class late, if at all; even when he did come he usually fell asleep at his desk no matter where he was placed in the room. Even right in front of the professor, he would drop his head onto the desk and snore. Smith knew other professors were more heavy-handed than he, but he had never been fond of the old sayings about sparing rods and whatnot. Apparently the other teachers favored them. He stood still as he studied Charles' ass and the stripes of red that painted it. He could see clear outlines of different implements - rulers with metal edges, a wooden meter stick, perhaps, the thinner stripe likely from an actual disciplinary rod. He could even see broader lashes that were likely from a paddle. He'd heard Morton preferred those. 

Charles turned to look over his shoulder, almost glowering. "Are you gonna do it, or what?"

"I see I'm not the first," Smith said.

Charles scoffed. He turned his head back and set his chin in his palm. "Get it over with."

"How are you able to sit like this?" he couldn't help but ask, reaching out to touch one of the bruises. Charles flinched at the touch, but otherwise didn't respond. Smith traced a line from a metal-edged ruler, the broken skin only half-healed. "How often do you get punished, Mr. Short?"

"Nunya," he answered. Smith rolled his eyes. He wondered if it was once a day, at this rate.

"Yet it's done nothing to improve your morale." Smith supposed it wouldn't feel like much of a punishment at this rate. What would a few more strikes mean on an ass this scarred? "Why do you do it, then? You know your professors are dissatisfied."

"All you fucks can do is smack me with a cane. Like I give a damn." He watched the student drum his fingers on his desk. He almost looked bored. "Get it over with so I can get outta here. I got shit to do."

Smith laid his other hand on his skin, stroking the back of his nails over the designs. He saw Charles' fists clench as he tolerated the touch. "I think a different sort of discipline is in order."

"Do you," Charles droned. "Hit me with it."

Smith set his half-hard cock onto his bruised ass, stroking his skin with it along his cheek. He saw Charles' shoulders tense, but he said nothing. "I feel like you aren't understanding the dedication your professors are displaying by punishing you," Smith explained. "We do want you to do well. Switching you daily is a display of tough love, but it seems like you need something tougher for it to get through."

"Bite me," Charles spat over his shoulder, glaring.

"Why don't you try speaking more politely, to start?" Smith squeezed his ass with his index and thumb, a perfect rectangle of a bruise right between the fingers, and Charles hissed at the pain. "This won't leave you with any exterior pain, at the very least."

"Bite me," he repeated, tone already weakened into a pitiable growl. Smith pulled his hips back, lined himself up, and pressed in.

Charles didn't yelp or wince when he did, which surprised Smith. He rose his brows down at him as the student grasped the back edge of the desk. His knuckles were a bright white. Smith pressed himself all the way in and only earned a choked sound of pain when his hips met his thighs. Smith tilted his head.

"You're not a virgin, are you?" he asked as he began thrusting. Charles dipped his head low. Each time he thrusted forward, Smith made sure his hips slapped his thighs, agitating the paddle marks and making Charles' muscles tense and ripple. "Interesting. Who else thought up this method?" He still said nothing. His forehead was pressed against the desk's surface. Smith reached down to find his uniform tie, grasping it and tugging it around to the back to force his head up. "Answer the questions your professor asks."

"Nunya," he hissed, grabbing at the tie as it squeezed his throat. Smith wound back and slapped his ass hard, finally causing Charles to make a noise. He moaned in a combination of agony and pleasure. Pleasure? It was definitely pleasure. Smith kept his hand tight on the tie and delivered a slap to the same cheek again, aiming for the same spot. His head jerked back that time and Smith could see how red his cheeks were.

"You enjoy this," Smith realized, amazement in his voice. Charles said nothing. His legs had pressed apart at some point, making it easier for Smith to fuck him. "You're a masochist. Is that why you misbehave?" Again he said nothing. Smith clenched his fingers into the tie and yanked him back again by it while dragging his nails down his ass. "Answer your professor."

"Yes," Charles gasped, anger coating his voice. "Yes, you prick."

"Use my name and title," Smith said, delivering another slap.

"Professor _Prick_ ," he hissed. Smith grabbed him by the shirtcollar and shoved him down against the desk. He pressed in hard and watched as Charles' jaw dropped, his eyes half-lidded.

"You don't have to insult me for you to fuck you harder," he commented. It was a little amusing how quiet he got when Smith continued with that same speed. "Who fucked you first?"

Charles swallowed heavily. "It - Morton."

"Professor Morton did," Smith repeated, nodding in understanding. "Did you get hard in front of him while he struck you with his paddle?" Charles bit down on his lip, turning his head so Smith couldn't see. Smith yanked him back up by his tie. "Maybe you begged him for it? Embarrassing." 

"I didn't," he snapped weakly, one hand keeping the tie from choking him while he balanced on the desk with the other. His hips were excitedly meeting Smith's with each thrust. It was amazing how these things were so easy to overlook before he realized Charles was just a horny masochist. 

"How many others have you fucked?" He heard a weak moan slip from his lips.

"Just him." He could hear him swallow. "And you."

"Who's better?" He didn't answer, so Smith struck his ass again before squeezing the skin roughly. "Who's better, Mr. Short?"

"You," Charles groaned. He dropped the hand that was keeping Smith from strangling him and Smith quickly tightened his grip. When he spoke again, his voice was weak, forced. "Your - dick's bigger."

Smith snorted. "Don't flatter me. Arch your back." He did almost immediately, both his palms on the desk as Smith kept his head forced back and his fingers tight on his ass. He could feel his own orgasm coming, not helped at all by the small sounds of choking coming from Charles. From the way his muscles and voice were shaking and hitching, he could only assume Charles wasn't too far off, either. "Keep your legs spread," he ordered when he pulled free. Charles made a displeased sound, but it stopped when, after a few quick strokes, Smith painted his red skin with his release, staining the bruises and cuts and marks with his own discipline. Smith glanced down at his sullied hand, at Charles' thighs shaking so desperately, and finally delivered a hard, sudden slap to his ruined skin, causing him to moan in a way he hadn't thought the student could. He reached down to jerk him off into completion, his semen splashing onto the floor, then yanked him down off the desk to his knees. Charles wouldn't look at him.

"Clean up," Smith said. Charles said nothing. His charade was back, but the blush and panting betrayed the act. "Clean up your mess," he repeated, and Charles made a tsk sound as he reached to grab Smith's hand and lap it clean. His tongue was broad and didn't miss a single fleck of their combined releases, and once he got to the fingers, he deftly sucked on each with closed lips, running his tongue over every knuckle and digit as he sucked it clean and swallowed each swipe.

When he finished, still on his knees, Smith took a long look at him. He dried his hand on his handkerchief as he studied the student, and was surprised to find that he was pleased with himself for discovering this secret. He could let the other professors know, but then again, Morton could have before him and he didn't. Maybe it was best to find a better solution on his own. No need to embarrass him so openly, probably. His eyes drifted from Charles at last and he moved his foot slowly to rest his toe in front of the release he'd spilled on the floor beneath his desk.

"I told you to clean up," he said, then watched the hesitation, the renewed blush, and the act of begrudging acceptance Charles put on. He leaned down to lick the semen from the floor, his ass high, and Smith rewarded him with quick little spanks until he finished the work. It would be so difficult to fix a masochist. No one would blame Smith for failing, he decided.


End file.
